Encounters
by Kotacoette
Summary: As he waits for his child to be born, Henry has an encounter with someone from his past and what he thought was a delusion from too much wine becomes a semi frequent occurrence.
1. Birth Of His Prince

I own nothing, yadda yadda.  
Enjoy~

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_Hampton Court Palace  
12 October 1537_

A blood curtailing scream rang throughout the Queen's chambers and echoed into the corridors beyond; awaking the king whom lingered there. The king looked at the ornate doors that would lead him into the Queen's outer rooms if he decided to open them and sighed. His heart ached with worry and his mind was clouded in doubt and eagerness but he could do nothing but pray for his goodly Jane. He knew he had to leave things to the midwives but he wanted to be near to her, he wanted to comfort his laboring wife. Despite the advice of his staff, the royal physicians and regardless of tradition, he waited outside her door in anticipation of a healthy son.

It was nearing the third dawn since Jane started to feel the pains of birth and since he was notified of the impending birth he cared only for his boy and his Queen. He would hear nothing of the affairs of his state until his son was safe in the nursery. He watched as Jane's ladies went to and from her room with water and cloth whispering their worries as they went. Never before did he need to wait so long for a child to be presented to him and he doubted if he was going to receive his coveted boy by daybreak. He could not think that his lovely, pure Jane would fail him and he could not fathom her giving him another daughter. Another heart breaking wail came from the Queen's chambers which made his knees weak.

Soon he found himself sitting upon the floor leaning his head back against the cool wall, drifting in and out of sleep. He thought of Jane and the son they would soon have. He imagined a handsome babe who would grow into a tall, strong boy with Jane's eyes and his hair. The boy would love sports, dance and song. He would excel in his studies, woo the ladies of court and charm foreign dignitaries. He'd be loved by the people and would go on to sire many fine sons to carry on his name, Henry's name.

There was a commotion from within the Queen's chambers followed by moans of anguish that stirred Henry from his dreams. It had been the first sound that emanated from the room in hours. With his eyes sight blurred by sleep, Henry sought hoping to get word of his son.

"She is not long for this world," whispered an eerily familiar voice in his ear, a voice that shook him to his very core. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. His heart stopped for a minute as he realized who was talking to him. Henry wanted to shout, to yell at the top of his lungs. He didn't know if he should be frightened or if he was very drunk but he was looking up and into the dark eyes that had enchanted and bewitched him years before, the eyes of Anne Boleyn.

"She is weak," Anne murmured, "but that is what you desired, is it not? A weak, dreary, forgiving wife who would turn the other way when she found you wenching?" she added coldly.

Henry stood up in a rage pushing Anne away from him, "How dare you speak of the Queen like that? I'll have your head!"

"I'm afraid you already have it," Anna spat coldly, leaning against the wall opposite of Henry.

Henry looked at the woman before him in awe of her hateful tone; her dark, silken hair cascaded down her back contrasting with her pale skin. She was dressed unusually plain in a dark gown of damask. Anne liked intricate jewels but the only jewelry she wore was a pearled B that hung from her neck. She was as enticing and striking to him as she was the first time he first laid eyes on her and the returning feelings for his second wife startled him.

"Anne. . ." he whispered.

"Was the quest for a son worth all this devastation?" she asked with a somber look upon her face.

Henry glared at Anne now, anger taking over his features. "If you had given me a son like you promised, none of this would have happened. You betrayed me! Where you failed, Jane will succeed! I will get my boy and he will create empires!" Henry yelled pointing angrily at Anne.

"No," Anne said looking rather subdued. Henry noticed her eyes lacked the spark she usually got when they bantered.

"No?" he questioned.

"No son of yours will sit on that throne for long."

"You think you can lie to me? You always were good at twisting words though, weren't you? Lying, sly witch, you are. But you cannot fool me this time. My heir is being born right now!"

"In time we would have had sons," Anne commented not noticing how Henry's face softened slightly, "But it matters not, our Gloriana will rule this country and she will be cherished by its people."

"Gloriana?"

"You will not have to wait for you boy for much longer," Anne uttered, hatred dripping for her words.

"Anne," Henry said stepping toward her, "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to collect," Anne answered, her dark eyes gleaming.

"Collect?" Henry asked hesitantly.

"She is not long for this world," Anne whispered as if she was commenting on the weather. Like her words didn't for tell something so horrible as the death of his beloved wife. Henry couldn't imagine his life with Jane, without the mother of his son! Without Jane, he was fairly certain his entire would shatter.

"No! Anne don't!" Henry cried, "Please don't!" He went to grab her arms and draw her into him but his hands when through her body. "Oh Lord, Anne. . ."

Anne gave her Henry a sad smirk as she reached for the Queen's door. She slowly faded into the dark wood without another word or glance, leaving Henry shaken and alone with his thoughts.

* * *

While looking for dialogue for my acting class, I came across the memory scene from Season Four with Anne and Henry.  
This is what popped into my mind after being reacquainted with the series.

My grammar skills are lacking and I'd appreciate any help/corrections people are willing give me.  
Feel free to comment on other aspects of my writing too, not just my poop grammar.


	2. An Illness

This story is going to be mixing facts from the show and actual history.  
I'll probably be stretching actual historical facts as well.  
Thanks to those who reviewed.  
Enjoy the next segment . . .  
(Oh, I own nothing~)

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Palace of Whitehall  
Spring of 1541

Henry looked down at the letter from the Lady Bryan and sighed. His boy was sick and dangerously so. The Royal Physicians thought the toddler was plagued with quartan fever. The prince had been sick for a fortnight with his fever coming and going every few days and he seemed to get weaker and weaker every time the fever took him. Tears threatened to fall from the king's eyes as he thought of burying another son. He remembered the sadness that ate away at his heart when his first born son had died nearly a week after birth and nearly four years later, his heart was broken again when he buried another infant Duke of Cornwall.

Ignoring the searing pain that shot through his leg, Henry walked across the room to the window so, he could view the gardens. Staring at the budding flowers, he tried to clear his mind but not matter how hard he tried he could only think of his son, his heir. If Jane had survived her confinement, he was sure the royal nursery would be full of healthy boys; a Duke of York, Duke of Gloucester and a Duke of Lancaster perhaps a Duke of Clarence too! A tear slid down his cheek, Jane was dead and all Henry could do was pray that God would not take her son, his beloved boy, away too.

"Do you cry for Elizabeth and I?" asked a voice, curiosity oozing from every syllable, "Perhaps Mary and Catherine?"

Henry clenched his fist and mumbled some incoherent about disrespecting the king before turning around to address whomever found their way into his private chambers. To his horror, the seat he had just occupied was taken by an annoyed looking Anne Boleyn.

"God no!" Henry exclaimed, remembering the last time he had seen Anne; the day Edward had been born, a few weeks before Jane had died, "No! Not my boy, please not my boy! Oh, Anne. Not my boy, Anne, not my boy."

A small smile found its way onto Anne's face as Henry begged for Edward's life, she listened to him plead to her and to God to spare his son. "It is not the boy's time," she stated as she straightened her crimson, floral patterned gown.

Henry placed a hand over his heart, "Thank you! Thank God!"

"Yet," Anne said, her smile turning into a troublesome smirk.

"What?" Henry asked stepping toward her.

"The boy will not die, yet," she said again.

"You will not harm him! How dare you threaten the Prince of Wales? The next King of England! You will not touch my boy!" Henry screamed.

Anne's dark eyes sparkled as Henry destroyed whatever he could get his trembling hands upon; he tore at the tapestries that hung on the walls, he pushed over any chair that was within his reach, he knocked the candles and books from their place on the table before her. He cursed her, the day she was born and the day they had met. Despite the rage he felt inside, his tantrum didn't last long; his leg ached and he had trouble breathing, he was gasping for air.

Anne sighed, remembering all his infamous outbursts she had witnessed. His anger could last for days and often ended in someone losing their head or if they were lucky they'd be stripped of their titles and banished from court. Anne laughed as she gracefully placed a hand upon her neck and watched as Henry struggled to stay standing on his wound infested leg.

"Do not fret," Anne said, "You will die before the boy."

"How do you . . .you really are a witch," Henry whispered.

"You should sit down," Anne suggested, ignoring his comment. Henry nodded in agreement. Gracefully, she stood up and gave him the chair. As Henry sat down, Anne slyly took the letter that was on the table.

For a few moments, it was as if they were newlyweds again; content with each other despite the silence. Henry sat and tried to compose himself and rested his leg while Anne walked around the table reading the letter from Lady Bryan.

Anne looked between the letter and Henry multiple times before walking toward the fire place; without a second thought, she tossed the letter into the flames and watched until the parchment was nothing but ash.

"Anne?" Henry asked.

Anne placed a hand on Henry's should and gave him a small, comforting smile. The contact made Henry jump.

"You're dead!" he bluntly stated as if her touch had broken a nonexistent spell. Frightened he backed his chair away from her and her touch. Anne gracefully bowed at his feet before walking toward the door.

"Wait!" He went to follow her but the pain in his leg prevented him from getting up, "Stay?" Henry asked. Anne gave him a sad smile before fading into the intricate carved wall behind her. Within seconds she was gone and Henry was left visibly distraught. Gazing at the flames in the hearth, he wondered if he was being punished by God somehow. Not only has he seen a dead woman twice, he had talked to her as if she was alive. He had felt the warmth of her touch and while it wasn't unpleasant being touch by someone he knew, without a doubt, was dead was extremely unnerving . . . Perhaps he was losing his mind?

"Henry!" cooed a sickly sweet voice, "You wanted to see me?"

Henry looked at the door to see his pretty, young wife bowing before him, her breasts spilling from her pink rose corset. "Kitty," he said with a smile, "Come sit upon my lap."

* * *

Thanks for reading! A few things;

I changed the rating because of the boobs. Some people get real anal about boob and there are more boobs to come, so, yeah. . .  
I am looking for a Beta because I know I suck a grammar and writing at 2am isn't the best thing to do when you are cursed with poop proof reading skills.

Some Historical Ness;  
If you didn't know, Jane Seymour died of Puerperal fever a few weeks after Edward's birth. Henry was devastated and had an extended morning period. He was more or less pushed into a marriage for political advancement to Anne of Cleves. He thought her ugly and as of now, if you couldn't tell by me skipping her, Anne of Cleves will not being making an appearance in this story.

There are varying sources about how many pregnancies Catherine of Aragon experienced. According to my research though, she delivered three boys (and three girls). Two of which were named/titled Henry, Duke of Cornwall. One died a week or so after birth and the other live to be a month old.


	3. Death of a Queen

Beware of the horrible run on sentences and the mentioning of boobs.  
I own nada, zip, zero~

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_Hampton Court Palace_  
_13 February 1542_

"Do you find pleasure in cropping those of my blood at the neck?!" Anne screamed.

The interruption of his solitude annoyed him but the sight of Anne made him feel uneasy. Her appearances had come to make him doubt his senses but tonight was different. She wore nothing but a shift and though it was caked in dried blood, her breasts and the dark curls that resided between her legs could easily be seen underneath the delicate fabric. He was sickened by the blood and yet tantalized by her flesh and for the first time, he realized Anne wasn't aging. Every time he saw her, she seemed the same as the day she was escorted to the Tower. . .

"Was I not enough?" she asked, placing a hand above her heart, "Were the children I lost not enough?"

"She was a traitor to the crown!" he barked as he stood up, wincing in pain.

"Was George not enough?" Anne mumbled, "Now you've take the head of Lady Rochford!"

Henry opened his mouth to say something but in the end he chose to say nothing. He just watched a hysterical and troubled Anne pace about the room. He didn't know Anne had cared for her sister-in-law and George certainly did not love his wife, he didn't even seem to like her. It seem that George much preferred the company of his family and the artist of court to the company of Jane. He would have thought Anne would be happy with Lady Rochford's death. It was her testimony that sent Anne and George to the block in the first place.

"No," Anne said definitely, "Your impatience and uncontrollable lust sent me to my death. And not only me but my brother and Weston, Brereton, Norris and Mark! And now you've killed a child."

"A child?"

"Catherine was but a girl, the same age as Mary," Anne said, "A child you corrupted with so many jewels and trinkets that she knew not what to do. Catherine was a simple girl, much more so than that Wench Seymour! She could barely write her own name, how was she supposed to know the rules of court?"

"Catherine was no child!" Henry answered.

"Why not send her to a nunnery? Annul the marriage and send her away from court, back to the country? Why did you kill her? The poor girl. . ."

"She carnally knew of that knight!" Henry declared.

"How many wives and daughters of knights have you know intimately?" Anne spat.

"I am the King of England!"

"You are but a boy playing king!" Anne yelled back, "What of all the others you've killed to meet your foolish whims? You wish to be remembered as a great king yet you kill whenever it fancies you! You are no diplomat nor conqueror nor champion of reformation. Your legacy will be one of insecurity and selfishness!"

"No! I will be remembered for freeing my people from the corruption of the church and. . ."

"You are too old to be remembered for anything more than being a promiscuous, envious man. They will overlook whatever achievement you think you have accomplished and focus on those who have suffered the most during your reign. Especially, those you've murdered."

Henry looked down at Anne, they were inches apart now. She was angry; her eyes were sparkling with hatred, her cheeks were flushed and she seemed out of breath from yelling so harshly. Despite her frustration, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Anne was always striking but when she was filled with passion for something; whether it was a cause, a charity or him, she was truly beautiful. Henry smiled as thoughts of dancing with Anne late into the night came to his mind. He decided to kiss her and he tried too but he found out that he could not touch her. His hand went through hers and his lips passed through her cheeks.

"Oh, God. . ." he mumbled as he stumbled back, "I'm dying. . . I've lost my mind. . ."

"This is only the beginning," Anne promised as she faded into the flames and mantle of the fire place.

Henry grasped his chest with his hands and fell back into his chair. His mind was racing, sweat dripped down his plump face and his pulse was erratic. His whole body ached and he was certain he was going to die any minute. There was a time in his life when he would have welcomed thoughts of Anne day and night but not now. He hated thinking of her and he hated anything that reminded him of her and her lies, her deceit. Whether he was having hallucinations or being punished by Almighty God or if Anne was really visiting him or haunting him he could not say but the encounters, whatever they were, left him consumed by memories of their time together. Such recollections brought back emotions he long thought dead, he had thought his love for Anne had died with the son she lost and any reconciliation was cast aside when she was found to be a harlot and a witch. . .

He watched flames of the hearth as he thought about Anne and by association, Kitty. The dancing of the orange and yellow sparks hypnotized him into a tranquil state. Soon he was asleep and dreaming of what his life could have been if promises that were made to him had been kept.

* * *

I'd like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing.  
_Encounters _was originally going to be a oneshot (hence the shortness of the chapters) but while doing research, I found out Little Eddie got sick when he was four and the second chapter basically wrote itself. This chapter was much harder to write. Any who, this will be a short story. I'm only planning to write two more chapters, maybe three.

I already have another Tudor's story in the works. I plan on posting it after my Finals. Do not fret, _Encounters _will be finished before I post the second story.

Someone volunteered to be the beta reader but I couldn't figure out life (stupid email ness) and it wouldn't/couldn't send.  
I'd like to thank that person and maybe it'll work in the future.

_Historical/Story Ness;_ Lady Rochford is the same person as Jane Boleyn _née _Parker. She was George Boleyn's wifey. Her testimony was like the final nail in Anne's (and the five accused men) coffin(s). After her husband's death, Jane went on to serve Henry's 3rd, 4th and 5th wives as a lady-in-waiting. Jane helped Kitty Howard (Henry's 5th wife) meet up with her lover and was eventually executed. Kitty Howard was born in either 1518 or 1524. Making her between 17 and 24 at the time of her death. She was rather young, in comparison, Mary, Henry's daughter, was born in 1516.


	4. A New Wife

I own nothing.  
Things in _Italics_ are taken directly from the show.  
Enjoy~

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_Hampton Court Palace  
July 1543  
_

Giving his newest wife a small smile he took her hand into his own and led her through the gardens as proficiently as he could with his sore leg. She returned his smile and gently squeezed his hand. They walked in pleasant silence but Henry pondered if she would betray him or perhaps she fall ill and die. Though Cate seemed content next to him, not nervous at all like his honorary sister had been when they had met, he couldn't help but wondered if he would be making another trip to the altar in his lifetime. As they rounded the corner, Henry saw a swish of pale gold, floral skirts that disappear behind the next hedge and he abruptly stopped walking.

"Are you alright, your majesty?" Catherine asked, "Henry?"

"I'm perfectly well," he answered.

They continued to walk but Henry was becoming increasingly worried that someone was watching them as they strolled. He kept catching glimpses of someone but Cate never seemed to notice the white feather from a hat that peeked over the hedges nor the pale golden skirts just making it beyond the bend as if their owner was trying to run from him nor did Cate see the petite, pale hand that would protrude from the green to beckon him.

"Let us sit, my dear," Henry said, spotting a bench.

"Henry," Catherine began nervously, "Henry, _I am determined to be a loving step-mother to your children, of course I've known the Lady Mary for years. . ." _Catherine said quickly,_ "but it would now be my pleasure rather than my duty to make friends with the Prince Edward and the Lady Elizabeth. . ."_

Henry smiled at Cate's compassion for his children and he was going to reply to her statement but then he saw Anne leaning against the hedgerow. His eyes widen in dread and grasped at Cate's hand.

"The Lady Elizabeth?" Anne hissed, her dark eyes meeting with his.

"Henry?" Catherine asked looking from him to the hedgerow, "Is it your leg? Should I call the physicians? Shall we go inside?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Henry muttered, "Yes."

~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~

After he dismissed his attendants and convinced Cate it would be fine to leave him to rest unaccompanied, Henry found that he couldn't relax. Seeing Anne in the gardens frightened him. Never had she appeared in his presence while someone else was present. He hoped Cate had seen her too but he knew she didn't. Anne only plagued him and his thoughts; she was his punishment and his alone.

"I approve," she simply said, breaking Henry's train of thought.

"Of Cate?" he assumed.

"If I had been thwarted by a woman like her, perhaps I wouldn't have been so scornful," Anne said with a laugh as she stepped from a dark corner of the room. The fire illuminated the golden flowers of her dress and he remembered the day she had first worn it; how they strolled through the gardens talking of Rome, the Pope and Catherine.

"Thwarted? Jane had nothing to do with your failure," Henry snarled, "You miscarried, you killed my son!"

"It wasn't my fault, not completely. You and that wench took my boy from me," Anne said, "In the end, I gave you a beautiful daughter."

"You promised me sons. . . I have no need for daughters!" Henry said, "They cannot rule kingdoms."

"You promised me your heart. . ." Anne whispered with tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Anne. . ."

"A daughter can be useful," Anne added as she wiped the tears away, "In time you will learn this but it will be all for not. You've poisoned them, perhaps even ruined them, the both of them."

"Who?" Henry asked.

"This Catherine will do wonders for my darling Elizabeth. Do try to keep the Seymours' at bay, they can be such wolves." Anne revealed.

Without another word Anne curtsied and then faded away right before Henry's eyes. If it didn't hurt to move around, he would have gotten up and thrown something. He was livid. Anne always knew how to get a rise out of him. He remembered how their arguments used to get so fierce and heated it would almost carry over into vehement love making. . .

He hadn't felt so passionately angry since the last time he thought of Anne. No one else made him feel that way in such a long time. Unfortunately, the only feelings that remained from his marriage with Anne were wrath and mistrust. Perhaps he had become a sullen, ill-tempered old man. No! He knew he was a great king, a beloved king. Those who acted against him were going to get punished no matter what; to transgress against the king, was treason.

"Boy," he called for a page, "Find the Queen and bring her to me."

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As always, a big Thank You! to everyone for reading and reviewing.  
It might be a while before I update again.  
I have finals this week and I have yet to take the plastic wrappings off my text books.


	5. Wandering Thoughts

Sorry about the update delay.  
Oh, I own nothin', by the by.  
Enjoy;

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_Hampton Court Palace_  
_25 August 1545_

Henry had never felt as old as he did now, now that he dearest friend was dead. He knew he was getting older but now he knew his time would come sooner rather than later. His legs and back ached constantly and it was hard to walk and to breathe. It was difficult to move from room to room and he required assistance to mount his horse. No longer was he the young jubilant king who hosted tournaments, danced all night and challenged anyone to a game who dared play against him. He was a former shell of himself; he no longer got joy from anything but wine and spirits.

He was irritable and full of sorrow all the time and it was all because of his damned legs! There was a time where just the thought of a good joust would have him happy for hours and now it took all he had to offer to get to the ring. Charles loved jousting as well but they both stopped the sport soon after Henry's fall; Henry because he couldn't leave his kingdom without a prince and he didn't want to make wounds worse. Suffolk stopped out of respect of his friend and king. Henry cursed the day he fell from that daft horse. Everything had changed that day.

"Do you regret it?" Anne asked as she appeared at the end of his bed.

Henry looked at Anne, studying her as if she was a foreign princess vying for the hand of his son. She wore a regal purple, French styled gown embellished with many tiny diamonds and pearls. Her raven hair was down without any headpieces ordainments. She seemed content sitting by his feet. He gave her a small smile, Anne had always liked to wear her hair down. . .

"I regret a great deal," Henry confessed.

"You aren't alone just because Suffolk is dead. You have lovely children and a conversationalist of a wife," Anne said, "When is the last time you saw Elizabeth?"

Henry looked away from Anne as he pushed thoughts of Elizabeth from his mind. When was the last time he had seen his youngest daughter? Had Charles been able to see his children before he died?

"You're the King, you are never really alone."

But he felt alone. He had no confidant with Charles dead. Anne was right when she said Cate was a good conversationalist but friendly bantering was nothing compared to meaningful discussions. His private talks with Cate didn't have the depth of affection and trust he craved. It wasn't the same as when Anne was his wife, or even when he was married to Catherine. He could and did talk to the Spanish Princess about everything and anything during the first years of their marriage. . .

He remembered the first time he had seen Catherine of Aragon. It was love at first sight and he was deeply jealous of his brother. He remembered the day he realized Catherine wasn't the beautiful princess anymore; the last time she miscarried. . . Her hair did not shine as it once did nor was her skin as firm and blemish free. Her womanly shape had been wreck by her failed pregnancies but that didn't matter now. Catherine was now gone, Anne and Charles too and he would be next. . .

"Why do you not grow old?" Henry asked thinking of his children, nephews and nieces. The people that would take the places of him and his remained friends.

"One does not age after they've died, Henry," Anne said.

"When I die," Henry asked, "Will I stay like this?"

Henry had always been a vain man and Anne knew his current appearance displeased him greatly but there were more pressing matters at hand. He wasn't on his deathbed yet.

"I have my head," Anne simply stated.

Henry nodded in understanding but inside, he was nearly bursting with joy. He was to be young again! He dreamed of being youthful once more; strong, agile, athletic, lithe and attractive. To be completely revitalized and. . .

"Your Majesty," said a servant from outside his door, "Her Majesty the Queen has sent word that your children have arrived."

"Yes, yes, I will make an appearance soon," Henry answered as he struggled to down from his bed.

"Here," Anne said grasping his elbow.

"Thank you, Anne," Henry said.

"Do enjoy the time you have with her," Anne whispered, "Before you know it, you'll be gone."

Henry nodded before he limped to the door. Even walking such a short distance was unbearably painful. To keep his mind off of his sore ridden legs, he thought of his son's happy face. Edward was always so excited when he was summoned to court. Elizabeth seemed to love the banquets and the dancing as well. Henry smiled, she'd love to see her mother.

"Anne, come see your daughter!" he said, not realizing his mistake until it was too late.

"Perhaps later," Anne said, "Don't keep her waiting."

Henry nodded as he wobbled out the door forgetting all about the death of his friend, the Duke.

"Elizabeth," Henry said looking at the girl curtsying before him. She smirked at him and bowed even lower. Elizabeth reminded him so much of Anne, she was definitely Anne's daughter; intelligent, graceful and confident. He was extremely thankful she had his hair. He was certain he wouldn't be able to handle seeing a mirror image of Anne gallivanting around Court.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Your Majesty," she said, "I hope you are doing better, Mary said you were ill."

"I am doing better," he answered, "Now that my children are here."

Elizabeth smiled at him and he smiled back.

* * *

This chapter isn't thoroughly research like the other chapters.  
Hopefully, I haven't made huge historical inaccuracies about Henry's relationship with his daughters.

I'm so sorry about the delay.  
I was terribly, horribly sick for a week then I had to work a little extra so, my paycheck would be a normal paycheck.  
If that didn't make it hard to sit down and write; there was a family emergency (which is basically settled now) that placed my attentions elsewhere.

Unfortunately, the next update will be late too.  
Generally, I have the next chapter 3/4 done when I post a new chapter but I haven't even started the next chapter and I apologize.


	6. Becoming Normal

This chapter took me ages to write. I'm 1000% sure this chapter is drowning in errors, please forgive me for losing the internal conflict of having someone I know in real life edit it for me (probably my worst fear ever) to just posting it so, you wouldn't have to wait for me to get over my fear. I own nothing, enjoy~

* * *

_Palace of Whitehall_  
_Summer of 1546_

He had been seeing her more and more. It was unnerving and frightening. He knew he hadn't lost his mind, everything else was clear to him. Everything was clear but her. While he was talking to advisers, she was there looking out the window. While he ate his meals, she was there; leaning against the table, watching the servants come and go. When he walked from room to room, she was always within his sights; moving through the courtiers. Anne Boleyn was everywhere. She haunted his thoughts and his dreams. She haunted him.

"Henry," Cate asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Henry murmured but he kept his eyes on Anne.

"Is something happening in the gardens?" Cate said, getting up to join him at the window.

"No, no," Henry answered as he watched Anne gaze into the fountain, "I was just thinking, my dear."

"Do you wish to discuss it?" Cate asked.

"No, it is quiet alright," Henry said taking her hand, "Come."

* * *

"Father?" Mary asked, "Is something wrong?

Henry watched Anne walk through the garden; she studied the flowers and sang little songs as she went. She acted like he wasn't just a few steps behind her. He imagined this is how she spent her days before she came to court, when she was back at her family home at Hever. She did not speak to him nor did she look at him. That infuriated him. Anne did not even react to the sight or sound of Mary and that scared him. . .

"Father?" Mary asked again, placing a hand on her father's elbow.

"I'm fine my dearest pearl. Come, we should not keep Cate waiting."

Henry and Mary followed Anne out of the gardens and into the Palace, through the halls and into the Queen's Chambers. How Anne knew where he was going made his stomach drop. While Henry and Mary sat at the table to dine with Cate, Anne sat by the window with a book. Throughout his meal Henry kept glancing at Anne, hoping she would acknowledge him.

These actions granted him unwanted attention from his wife and daughter.

"Husband," Cate asked, "Are you well?"

"Perhaps you should rest, father," Mary suggested.

"I'm well, do not worry," he said, turning his attention back to his meal.

When the next course came, Anne tossed the book toward him. Henry's heartbeat became rapid when he saw the book was a worn and well used copy of _Obedience of the Christian Man. _On her way out of the room, Anne kicked the book near his feet but did not glance in his direction or say a word to him. Henry looked at the book, which was now opened. Inside the yellowing pages sat a large pink ribbon decorated with the words _Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne_.

"Perhaps, I will retire to my chambers. . ." Henry whispered.

* * *

"Anne?" Henry asked.

She had been watching him all night. He could not sleep. He could not relax with her silhouette sitting at the foot of his bed. She did not speak to him, but once in a while she did look at him. Her dazzling eyes seemed to pierce his soul with every glance.

"Anne!" he said, a bit louder this time.

She looked up at him but her face showed no emotion; not a smirk, not a smile. She did not look sad, angry or happy. She did appear sickly, however, like she was near death. She seemed shaken, broken and like her mind was elsewhere. She wore a solemn gown of a dark cloth and her hair was pulled up and tucked away in a white bonnet. . .

"Anne!" Henry hollered.

She did not shrink away at his outburst but instead turned around and watched the flames dance in the hearth. She seemed memorized by the flames but her actions were maddening; Anne would look at him for a few moments, then she would watch the flames for what seemed like hours before turning her attention to him once more.

"I am the King of England!" Henry screamed, "You will answer me!"

Anne looked at him once more but this time her hands were wrapped around her slim neck. Her eyes were wide with horror.

"Anne! Anne?" Henry inquired as she gracelessly fell off the bed and onto the floor.

"Anne!" Henry screamed as he uncovered himself as quickly as possible and scuttled to the end of the bed but when he got there, she was gone

* * *

Henry looked at his young son and smiled. One day his beautiful son would be king. Henry was afraid to die but was not worried about his kingdom. Henry was sure Edward would be a great king, one to be remembered for hundreds, if not thousands of years. He would take care of England and her people. He was equally sure Edward would sire many fine, strong sons and he would be the patriarch of a fine dynasty of kings, dukes and princes.

"Papa!" Edward said when he noticed Henry, "I thought you ill. Mary said I shouldn't bother you but you have come to me."

"I am well and even if I was sick, I'll never be too sick to see my son," Henry answered, "Don't let me interfere with your business, continue."

"Yes sir!" Edward said before returning to his toys.

Henry turned his attentions toward Anne. She had been standing behind the playing child since Henry arrived. Anne followed his son around his chambers; she acted like the young boy's shadow. Somewhere, deep down, he knew she wouldn't hurt his boy. He knew she could not touch a single hair on the boy's head. Despite knowing a dead woman could not harm Edward, Henry was afraid to see what she might do if she was left alone with his darling prince.

"Elizabeth!" Edward stated with a smile as his sister walked into the room.

"Brother," Elizabeth bowed, "Father."

Henry smiled but not because of his daughter but because Anne had vanished the minute Elizabeth had made herself known.

* * *

She was gone. He hadn't seen her in days. She had been gone for years but this was different. Anne had been gone long from his life; everything of hers had been given away or destroyed. Her daughter sent into exile until recently, her crest vanished from the walls, even her name could not be said around him. . .but seeing her float around him had brought him some sort of comfort. It had to of or he wouldn't be so angry that she was gone. . .

* * *

We're getting close to the end.  
Two more chapters left, if my calculations are correct.  
Then I'll probably super edit it before marking it as a completed story, hence the need for a beta. I know someone volunteered (and I thank them) but it didn't work out because I'm technically challenged. Yet again, I'm sorry for the delay, Spring Semester has started and I'm already swamped. I will not give up on this story and will slowly but surely be working on it between school assignments.

In the show, Anne let's Henry read her copy of _Obedience of the Christian Man_.  
_Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne _or _Let them grumble, that is how it is going to be_ is one of Anne's mottos.


End file.
